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A Halloween Tradition By Harri Drake
It was Halloween, and, as per tradition, I was sitting at home alone. My wife, Marissa, was at the Thorton's party up the street. That, too, was a tradition. I poured myself a bourbon and sat down. The brushed leather of my recliner felt cool to my unclothed body.
I wondered if Marissa was naked yet, or if that would happen soon. I pictured her laughing and dancing and caressing Lily's cheek or groping Christian's bulge. I wondered who else was in attendance this year.
I ached for midnight almost as much as I dreaded it. Midnight would bring answers, and details, and release, but it would also be the end of one of my favorite nights of the year. Marissa would come home, and I'd see in her eyes, buried beneath the blur of her euphoria, the same small sadness for the end of the excitement.
I brought my hand down to my manhood and disappeared into the sensations of handling my own horniness.
Then, the front door keypad beeped five times, and I heard the little internal motor whir, and spin, and unlock.
Why was she back so soon?
I started when the door opened enough for me to see that whoever was entering my house was much larger and more male than my 5-foot-eight-inch wife.
I moaned. It was an emasculating blend of surprise and a demand for information. The dimly lit figured barked a laugh, and I recognized Mike Donahue's voice. He was an old friend, and long-time bull for Marissa. A real man's man in ways that I've always admired. A lifer in the military and an officer by promotion rather than privilege. Plus, he happened to be the proud owner of my wife's favorite cock, and by extension, my second favorite.
"Jesus, Mike. You scared the shit out of me."
He laughed apologetically. "I noticed. Sorry about that."
He took off his coat and threw it on a chair near the door and looked over at me.
"Marissa isn't home." I announced. He nodded and proceeded to unbutton his shirt. Then he dropped his basketball shorts to the floor and stepped free of them. He was naked save for a necklace and his body hair, and he was sporting a near hardon already.
"I know. She texted me before I drove over. I just need to get off, and you're gonna help me."
I rose defiantly from my chair. He was much larger and stronger than me, but I lifted myself up to my tallest height. I'd fight him if I had to, but I wasn't gonna let him fuck me. No way. Not after all the times I'd seen him reduce Marissa to an incoherent puddle of mush. He was a rough and dominant top, and she loved that.
She also loved my gentility. I knew ways to whisper an orgasm from her body with a subtlety that Mike would never have. I also knew with confidence that Marissa appreciated both of our strengths and differences. I was still staring at Mike's largest strength, and I appreciated how incredible it was, I really did, but I was not letting that huge beast inside of me.
I didn't even want to. I wasn't gay. Even if I couldn't stop looking at it as he closed the space between us, even if I shivered uncontrollably at the touch of his heavy damp rod against my abdomen.
"I'm not gay, Mike."
"I know that. I've met your wife."
"So why is your hardon on my stomach?"
"Why is your hardon on my thigh?"
I couldn't answer. I just froze and returned his intense stare. Then I felt him take my hand in his. He lifted it up and wrapped my shocked fingers around his fat shaft.
How many times had I stroked my own cock and watched a more endowed man get off while wondering what it must feel like in his hands? This wasn't the same as reaching down to find that my own dick had grown an inch fatter or two inches longer, but it certainly felt incredible, bizarre... and incredible.
He grew as I held him, and his breathing became urgent. Each inhalation blurred towards a sigh, a moan, a plea. Without realizing, I had begun to stroke his erection. He pulled me into him and was kissing me on the ear while his big, callused hands roamed my body.
I couldn't understand the wildfires that his touch ignited on my skin, but when his left hand finally traced its way down my back and grabbed the flesh of my ass in an aggressive vice, I knew that I was done for. There was nothing that I wouldn't let him do. I wanted his fingers and lips to have dominion over my whole body and all that dwelled thereon.
He stopped kissing my ear, and I felt his lips part as he whispered, "Marissa gave me an address where I could go and meet her now. She also told me that she had a feeling you wouldn't mind my company if I wanted to come here and wait for her to be done. I thought the same."
He found the outer rim of my asshole with the tip of one finger, and he traced a teasing circle around its circumference. I sighed. My knees buckled. He held me upright without any apparent effort.
"Should I go?"
"Please don't."
He held me there a moment longer, ringing my hole with his finger and breathing heavily against my ear. Then, he pressed his pointer slowly but insistently into me, and I pulled away from the biting sting.
"You're so tight. I can't wait to stretch you open."
I still had my fingers wrapped around his rod. Suddenly, the girth of it shook me to the marrow. If his finger burned, what would this beast do to me?
As if he could read my mind, he pulled me away far enough to look into my eyes, and smiled.
"I'll be gentle."
He released me and moved towards the door. Before he left the room, he turned around and amended his statement, "I'll be gentle... at first."
He disappeared into the hallway and returned a few moments later with the bottle of lube from Marissa's nightstand. She let him do whatever he wanted when came over, and from time to time, that included butt stuff. Which I loved to watch, but she didn't really enjoy all that much herself.
"Turn around and bend over. Put your face into the couch cushions, and stick that bubble butt into the air."
I obeyed, and waited with my heart hammering its way out of my chest. I couldn't tell if I were more scared or excited, but I sure as hell was harder than stone.
Mike approached, and I grimaced with anticipation. I felt his warmth behind me, and then against me. I was confused for a moment when I felt his skin prickly and itchy against my ass, but then I felt his tongue on my hole... in my hole, and I cried out in wonder.
Marissa had only ever licked my ass one time when we were in college, and we were both high on mushrooms. I'd thought about it a lot over the years. Tried to recall the sensations exactly - tried, unsuccessfully, to recreate them. And either I'd forgotten how incredible it actually felt, or Marissa hadn't done it right all those years ago.
Mike's tongue felt enormous as he licked and teased all the tension out of my hole. He lapped at me the way I'd seen him eat my wife out on countless occasions. I reared at the comparison in my mind. This was incredible. It was Heaven.
Then it was over, and I felt his hard cock replace his teasing tongue, and as it seared into me, it was many things other than Heaven.
The first thrust was utter agony, and the second not much better. I must have sounded like a wounded animal as he stretched me out.
When Mike started his third thrust into my no-longer-virgin hole, I felt something wild and electric in the pits of my stomach. Something deep and urgent, almost a need to pee.
I looked down thinking that I was pissing myself and saw a long silver string of pre-ejaculate hanging from the end of my throbbing erection.
Mike saw it too. His rough hand squeezed the length of me, teasing out a torrent of shiny, slick excitement. He gathered the dangling strand on his hand and brought it to my mouth. He didn't wait for me to lick, but pressed it to my face and smeared my lips with my own precum.
It was demeaning and delicious.
"I love how hard and wet you are for me, man. Hard and wet and tight as fuck."
I spoke then, I could feel words leaving my mouth, but I had no idea what I was saying. Mike's enormous cock had reduced me to a primal and prehuman state. I felt like exposed wires and shorting circuits.
He started to pound me like I'd known he would... like I'd feared he would. And I was so grateful for every aching press of his manhood. There was pain still, but it was buried beneath layer after layer of ecstasy.
His thrusts grew stronger, and I felt my eyes fill with tears. I knew immediately that they were summoned by the grief I felt at having let myself get so near middle age without experiencing this unequaled delight.
It wasn't only his stretching, prodding cock, but his voice, his hands, his moaned pleasure. The pleasure, of which I was an integral part. I'd seen Mike's eyes roll up in his head. I'd seen him buck, and shudder, and pulse his orgasm into my wife more times than I could count, but this was the first time that I'd been a real party to his enjoyment, and I found that it made the whole experience hotter.
"You're gonna make me cum, already, bud. Holy fuckin shit. Oh, fuck!"
His words sent me over the edge. He rammed himself in, fast and hard. I cried out and came. I looked to my left and right to make sure I wasn't imagining it, and sure enough, my hands were holding the cushion on either side of my head with a white-knuckled grip.
My cock was jumping, and sputtering, and spitting a load all of it's own accord.
After I came, Mike pulled me back against his pelvis once, twice, and on the third thrust, he planted himself deep and roared in orgasm.
The room became still and silent, and over our panting breath, I heard my wife giggle from the doorway.
Quivering, I looked up and met her eye.
She smiled broadly and asked, "Did we just start a new Halloween Tradition?"
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